Rita Skeeter and the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Warfare
by Larraine Lynch
Summary: Hermione Granger spends long afternoons in the beetle's bed. Rated M to be safe. Femslash


This is a short Rita/Hermione piece I wrote ages ago. I decided to spend some time tonight typing it up. I hope that anyone who stumbles across this fic enjoys it. Feel free to contact me with any questions or comments. Would be happy to hear from you.

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><p>Hermione Granger spends long afternoons in the beetle's bed. They fuck. Angry, wounded sex. Rita furious that her writing career plummeted after the end of the war. Hermione desperate to replace the feel of Bellatrix Lestrange's chipped fingers from trailing over her flesh with something, anything.<p>

One time, Rita calls her mud as she trails her tongue over the pink brand across the muggleborns forearm. Hermione freezes. Images of Bellatrix roll through her mind. Rita's green tipped nails rake down Hermione's back. Cool breath puffs from full lips onto her quivering neck. For a moment Hermione cannot separate mad Lestrange, from Narcissistic Skeeter. Hermione's mind flees.

Rita sighs. Rests her head in the palm of her hand. She trails her eyes over the far too skinny young woman. Tanned skin, sharp edges, and far too many wounds that may never heal. Rita leans over the girl. She grasps her cedar wand from the oak bed side table. With a wave of her wand, she banishes the jeans and pink blouse from the woman.

Then she climbs off the bed long enough to shed her skin tight silk dress. It falls to the hard wood floor, and Rita frees herself from her bra and thong. She climbs back into bed, and maneuvers Granger's slack body from on top of the red wool comforter.

Rita is the big spoon. Her lithe limbs wrap around the girl's hollow stomach. She coos and croons. She talks of moonlight nights, the thrill of a successful animagus transformation, and the joy of flight. Slim hands spend hours gliding over quivering limbs.

When Rita runs out of topics to talk about, she sings an old ballad about an elf queen who sold her soul to a mortal lover. Rita stumbles over the verse where the human lover betrays her elf. Her voice slips into a melodic chant. She weaves a new story. One of life and love and children. So many fat, happy children Rita feels the need for a muggle dentist.

Hours later Hermione blinks. Brown eyes register a white ceiling. The warm wool cover encases her skin in warmth. Hermione continues to listen to Rita's croons eyes half mass. Rita's voice is scratchy, rough, and slightly slurred. Hermione giggles as Rita rants about exposing Madame Puddifoot for a sex peddler. Such nauseating decorations.

Hermione's body shakes. She can feel her muscles spasm. Warm, quill calloused fingers urge her to lie on her stomach.

"Trust me."

Hermione pliantly follows the older witch's orders. Full lips brush briefly against her right shoulder. Hermione's body is too wrought to experience her usual arousal. Then Rita's hands begin to massage her flesh. Stroke by stroke, Rita Skeeter chases the aches and pain from Hermione's body.

Rita whispers a tale of a young ambitious Slytherin with an acid tinted tongue that could transform truth into lies and lies into truth. Hermione drifts to sleep once more.

Rita trudges to the bathroom. She turns on the faucet and carries water to her lips with cupped hands. She does not look in the mirror. She cannot face this being she has become. Rita rests her slick hand against the marble counter. What happened to that uncaring, pragmatic woman? When had hate sex transformed into this?

Rita Skeeter looks up. Blond hair stands on end. Mussed when Hermione's hands grabbed and pulled. Green eyes are red rimmed. Deep dark bags stand out against her too pale skin. A whimper drifts. Rita does not think. She hurries back into the room.

Rita enfolds the girl in her arms once more. She relishes the supple curves against her own. For the first time, she is conscious of the wounds the Lestrange bitch left behind. The marks enrage Rita. What gives that woman the right to steal a piece of Rita's girl?

As Rita drifts to sleep, she decides to take the girl to Madame Puddifoots in the morning. Woman liked to be wooed over tea…at least she assumed they did. Rita laughed at any man who had to invite her to something as mundane as tea, but she thinks Hermione might be the kind of woman who enjoyed the sentiment.

Two days later Rita uses her formidably bullshit skills to carry on a two hour discussion about SPEW. Hermione smiles and sips her tea. She does not correct Rita's assumption that the "W" in SPEW stands for Warfare. Hermione even suggests that the first Elfish battle should be fought at Saint Mungos.

Two weeks later Rita writes a very boring article supporting equal rights for squibs. She falls asleep twice while writing it. Five weeks later, Rita writes a rather dull piece on werewolf mistreatment. Hermione her heart squeeze in her chest with each public announcement of green beetle's devotion. Hermione is all too aware that Rita is curbing her acerbic wit and fudging of the truth for her.

Rita saves all of her acerbic wit for Hermione. Over dinner, while walking around town hands entwined, and while in Rita's bed, the writer holds Hermione close and whispers snide comments about anything and anyone that happened to enrage her that day. Rita realizes the girl is stealing every word, emotion, and thought from her. She laughs. The change had been subtle. It had all been very Slytherin.


End file.
